Their Story
by Maina.GundamSeed
Summary: A rich jock from Zaft Academy. A wise cracking workingclass beauty from Kusanagi Arts School. This is their story. AxC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Gundam Seed/ Destiny and the story (by E.S.) _**don't belong to me**_. They all belonged to someone else. This is just an abridged story. The same disclaimer goes for the up-coming chapters until the story ends.

* * *

Their Story

* * *

Chapter 1:

* * *

In the fall of my senior year, I got into the habit of studying at the Kusanagi Arts School library. Not just to eye the cheese, although I admit that I liked to look. The place was quiet, nobody knew me; no Elsman to trouble me, no Joule to ruse me and no Amalfi to smile always at me. And the reserve books were less in demand. The day before one of my history hour exams, I still hadn't gotten around to reading the first book on the list, an endemic Zaft disease. I ambled over to the reserve desk to get one of the books that would bail me out of the morrow. There were two girls working there; one a tall tennis-anyone type, the others a blonde type. I opted for the blonde.

"Do you have the _Rise of Era_?"

She shot a glance up at me.

"Do you have your own library?" she asked.

"Listen, Zaft Academy is allowed to use the Kusanagi library."

"I'm not talking about legality. I'm talking ethics. You guys have five million books. We have a few lousy thousand."

A superior-being type! The kind who thinks since the ratio of Kusanagi to Zaft is five to one; the girls must be five times as smart. I normally cut these types to ribbons, but just then I badly needed that goddamn book.

"Listen, I need that goddamn book."

"Would you please watch your profanity, Preppie?"

"What makes you so sure I went to Prep School?"

"You look stupid and rich," she said.

"You're wrong," I protested. "I'm actually smart and poor."

"Oh no. _I'm_ smart and poor."

She was staring straight at me. Her eyes were amber. Okay, maybe I look rich, but I wouldn't let some Kusanagi – even one with pretty eyes – call me dumb.

"What the hell makes you so smart?" I asked.

"I wouldn't go for coffee with you," she answered.

I snorted, "Listen – I wouldn't ask you."

"That," she replied, "is what makes you stupid."

* * *

tbc 


	2. Chapter 2

Same disclaimer applies from prologue. Not beta-read.

* * *

Their Story

* * *

Chapter 2:

* * *

Let me explain why I took her for coffee. By shrewdly capitulating at the crucial moment – i.e. by pretending that I suddenly wanted to – I got my book. And since she couldn't leave until the library closed, I had plenty of time to absorb some pithy phrases from the book. I got an A plus on the exam, coincidentally the same grade I assigned to Cagalli's legs when she first walked from behind that desk. I can't say I gave her costume an honor grade, however; it was a bit un-lady like for me. Body fitting red shirt and cargo pants. But then again, it shows her figure.

We went to Catapult Restaurant, a nearby sandwich joint. I ordered two coffees and added a brownie with ice cream for her.

"I'm Cagalli Yula Attha. I'm from Orb," she said. "And a music major," she added.

"My name is Athrun," I said.

"First or last?" she asked.

"First," I answered, and then confessed that my entire name was Athrun Zala.

"Oh," she said. "Zala, like the poet?"

"Yes," I said. "No relation."

In the pause that ensued, I gave inward thanks that she hadn't come up with the usual distressing question: 'Zala, like the hall?' For it is my special albatross to be related to the guy that built Zala Hall, the largest and ugliest structure in Zaft Academy, a colossal monument to my family's money, vanity and flagrant Zaftism.

After that, she was pretty quiet. Could we have run out of conversation so quickly? Had I turned her off by not being related to the poet? What? She simply sat there, semi-smiling at me. For something to do, I checked out her notebooks. Her handwriting was curious – small sharp little letters. And she was taking some pretty snowy courses: Comp. Lit 105, Music 150, Music 201 –

"Music 201? Isn't that a graduate course?"

She nodded yes, and was not very good at masking her pride. "Renaissance polyphony."

"What's polyphony?"

"Nothing sexual, Zala."

Why was I putting up with this? Doesn't she read the _Red aka Zaft_? Doesn't she know who I am?

"Hey, don't you know who I am?"

"Yeah," she answered with kind of disdain. "You're the guy that owns the Zala Hall."

She didn't know who I was.

"I don't _own_ Zala Hall," I quibbled. "My great-grandfather happened to give it to Zaft."

"So his not-so-great grandson would be sure to get in!"

That was the limit.

"Cagalli, if you're so convinced I'm a loser, why did you bulldoze me into buying you a coffee?"

She looked me straight in the eye and smiled. "I like your eyes," she said.

Part of being a big winner is the ability to be a good loser. There's no paradox involved. It's distinctly Zaft thing to be able to turn any defeat into victory. Of course, an out-and-out triumph _is_ better. I mean, if you have the option, the last-minute score is preferable. And as I walked Cagalli back to her dorm, I had not despaired of ultimate victory over this snotty Kusanagi bitch.

"Listen, you snotty Kusanagi bitch, Friday night is the Alliance hockey game."

"So?"

"So I'd like you to come."

She replied with the usual Kusanagi reverence for sport: "Why the hell should I come to a lousy hockey game?"

I answered casually: "Because I'm playing."

There was a brief silence. I think I heard snow falling."

"For which side?" she asked before closing the door fully.

* * *

_Athrun Zala_

_ Senior_

_ 174 cm, __60 kg_

_December City, Plants_

_Age: 20_

_Major: Social Studies_

_Dean's list: C.E. '71, '72, '73_

_All-Zaft First Team: C.E. '71, '72, '73_

_Career Aim: Law_

By now, Cagalli had read my bio in the program. I made triple sure that Arthur Trine, the manager, saw that she got one.

As we warmed up on the ice, I didn't wave to her or even look her way. And yet I think she_thought_ I was glancing at her. I mean, is she really wearing the Zaft scarf as a sign of support?

By the middle of the second period, we were beating Alliance 0-0. That is, Dearka and I were about to perforate their nets. The green bastards sensed this, and began to play rougher. Maybe they could break a bone or two before we broke them open. The fans were already screaming for blood. And in hockey this literally means blood or, failing that, a goal. As a kind of noblesse oblige, I have never denied them either.

Sting Oakley, Alliance center, charged across our blue line and I slammed into him, stole the puck and started down-ice. The fans were roaring. I could see Dearka on my left, but I thought I would take it all the way, their goalie, Auel Neider, being a slightly chicken type I had terrorized since he played for the Alliance. Before I could get off a shot, both their defensemen were on me, and I had to skate around their nets to keep hold of the puck. There were three of us, flailing away against the boards and each other. It had always been my policy, in pile-ups like this, to lash mightily at anything wearing enemy colors. Somewhere beneath our skates was the puck, but for the moment we were concentrating on beating the shit out of each other.

A ref blew his whistle.

"You – two minutes in the box!"

I looked up. He was pointing at me. Me? what had I done to deserve a penalty?

"Come on, ref, what'd I do?"

Somehow he wasn't interested in further dialogue. He was calling to the officials' desk – "Number 1, two minutes" – and signaling with his arms.

I remonstrated a bit, but that's de rigueur. The crow expects a protest, no matter how flagrant the offense. The ref waved me off. Seething with frustration, I skated toward the penalty box. As I climbed in, listening to the click of my skate blades on the wood of the floor, I heard the bark of the PA system: "Penalty. Zala of Zaft. Two minutes. Holding."

The crowd booed; several Zafts impugned d the vision and integrity of the referees. I sat, trying to catch my breath, not looking up or even out onto the ice, where Alliance outmanned us.

"Why are you sitting here when all your friends are out playing?"

The voice was Cagalli's. I ignored her, and exhorted my teammates instead. "C'mon, Zaft, get that puck!"

"What did you do wrong?"

I turned and answered her. She was my date, after all.

"I tried too hard."

And I went back to watching my teammates try to hold off Sting Oakley's determined efforts to score.

"Is that a big disgrace?"

"Cagalli, please, I'm trying to concentrate!"

"On what?"

"On how I'm gonna total that bastard Sting Oakley!" I looked out onto the ice to give moral support to my colleagues.

"Are you a dirty player?"

My eyes were riveted on our goal, now swarming with Alliance bastards. Luckily Yzak is one of the best goalies, ever. I couldn't wait to get out there again. Cagalli persisted.

"Would you ever 'total' me?"

I answered her without turning. "I will right now if you don't shut up."

"I'm leaving. Good-bye."

By the time I turned, she had disappeared. As I stood up to look further, I was informed that my two-minute sentence was up. I leaped the barrier, back into the ice.

The crowd welcomed my return. Zala's on wing, all's right with the team. Wherever she was hiding, Cagalli would hear the big enthusiasm for my presence. So who cares where she is.

_Where is she?!_

Sting Oakley slapped a murderous shot, which Yzak deflected off toward Nicol, who then passed it down-ice in my vicinity. As I skated after the puck, I thought I had a split second to glance up at the stands to search for Cagalli. I did. I saw her. She was there.

The next thing I knew I was on my ass.

Two Alliance bastards had slammed into me, my ass was on the ice, and I was – Shit! – embarrassed beyond belief. Zala dumped! I could hear the loyal Zaft fans groaning for me as I skidded. I could hear the blood-thirsty Alliance chanting: "Hit him again! Hit him again!"

What would Cagalli think?

Alliance had the puck around our goal again, and again Yzak deflected their shot. Nicol pushed it at Dearka, who rifled it down to me. Now the crowd was wild. This had to be a score. I took the puck and sped all out across Alliance's blue line. Two Alliance defensemen were coming straight at me.

"Go, Athrun, go! Knock their heads off!"

I heard Cagalli's shrill scream above the crowd. It was exquisitely violent. I faked out one defenseman, slammed the other so hard he lost his breath and then – instead of shooting off balance – I passed off to Dearka, who had come up the right side. Dearka slapped it into the nets. Zaft score!

In an instant, we were hugging and back slapping and jumping up and down. Me and Dearka and the other guys. And the Alliance guy I hit was still on his ass. The fans threw programs onto the ice. This really broke Alliance's back. We creamed them 7-0.

* * *

Me and the boys took our time in the shower and the tub. Then it hit me.

Shit! Cagalli would be waiting outside. I hope! Still! Shit! How long had I lingered in that comfort that she was out there in the winter cold? I set a new record for getting dressed. I wasn't even quite dry as I pushed open the center door of the gym.

The cold air hit me. It was freezing. And dark. There was still a small cluster of fans.

I was looking everywhere for Cagalli. had she left and walked all the way back to Kusanagi alone?

"Cagalli?"

I took three or four steps away form the fans searching desperately. Suddenly she popped out from behind a bush, her face swathed in Zaft scarf, only her eyes showing.

"Hey, Zala, it's cold as hell out here."

Was I glad to see her. "Cagalli!"

Like instinctively, I kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Did I say you could?" she said.

"What?"

"Did I say you could kiss me?"

"Sorry, I was carried away."

"Whatever."

We were pretty much all alone out there, and it was dark and cold and late. I kissed her again. But this time at her lips, and not lightly. It lasted a long nice time. When we stopped kissing, she was still holding on to my sleeves.

"I don't like it," she said.

"What?"

"The fact that I like it."

As we walked all the way back (I have a car, but she wanted to walk), Cagalli held on to my sleeve. Not my arm, my sleeve. At the doorstep of her dorm, I did not kiss her good night.

"Listen, Cagalli, I may not call you for a few months."

She was silent for a moment. A few moments.

Finally, she asked, "Why?"

"Then again, I may call you as soon as I get to my room."

I turned and began to walk off.

"Bastard!" I heard her whisper.

I pivoted again and scored from a distance of twenty feet.

"See, Cagalli, you can dish it out, but you can't take it!"

I would like to have seen the expression on her face, but strategy forbade my looking back.

And I hurried then off to my room to call her.

* * *

Tbc??

* * *

As I type this chapter down, I had doubts. You would agree with me that Athrun's character here was more Yzak-like, right? So, should I just redo the whole thing and turn this to a YxS?? 


	3. Chapter 3

Same disclaimer applies from prologue. Not beta-read.

Note: Based from the review, its still asucaga )

For those who said it should be yxs, I'll try to make a fic feat them some time soon.

* * *

Their Story

* * *

Chapter 3:

* * *

My roommate, Dearka Elsman, was playing poker with Yzak and Nicol when I entered the room. "Hello animals," I greeted. 

They responded with appropriate grunts.

"Off Attha?" Dearka asked.

"None of your business," I replied.

"Who's she?" Nicol asked.

"Cagalli Yula Attha," answered Yzak. "Wonky music type."

"I recognized her now," said Nicol. "She is pretty."

"A real tight-ass," Dearka added.

I ignored these crude and horny bastards as I got the wireless phone and started to take it into my room.

"She plays piano with the Eternal Society," said Nicol.

"What does she play with Zala?" Yzak smirked.

Dearka hoofed, "Probably hard to get!"

Snickers, grunts and guffaws. The animals were laughing.

"Gentlemen," I announced as I took leave, "up yours."

I closed my door in another wave of subhuman noises, took off my shoes, lay back on the bed and dialed Cagalli's number. We hadn't seen each again but had constantly talked on the phone for the past week.

When she answered, we spoke in whispers.

"Hey Cagalli…"

"Yeah?"

"Cagalli… What would you say if I told you…"

I hesitated. She waited.

"I think… I'm in love with you."

There was a pause. Then she answered very softly. "I would say… you were full of shit."

She hung up.

I wasn't happy. Or surprised.

* * *

The next afternoon, I got hurt at the Minerva game. 

It was my own fault, really. At a heated juncture, I made the unfortunate error of referring to their center, Rey Za Burrel as a 'fucking bastard." My oversight was in not remembering that four members of their team, including the 'other fucking bastard', Shinn Asuka, are within earshot. To add insult to injury, the penalty was called on me. And not a common one, either: Five minutes for fighting. With five minutes left to play the game! You should have heard the Minerva fans ride me when it was announced! Many Zaft supporters, including Cagalli, were not able to come all the way up at February City.

Fortunately, Yzak was able to block all the Minerva's following attempts to goal and Nicol was able to shoot a goal for us at the nick of time.

We won the game 6-5.

After the game, an X-ray determined that no bones were broken, but half of my face was blue. The guys waited for me, then off we go to our hotel were we celebrated our victory.

The old-timer members of the team were there, including the first quadruplets of Zaft – Patrick Zala, Zach Joule, Tad Elsman and Yuri Amalfi. Yep, our parents.

* * *

At about eleven-thirty, I excused myself to phone Cagalli. 

I told her all about the fight and I could tell she enjoyed it. Not many of her wonky musician friends either threw or received punches.

"Did you at least total the guy that hit you?" she asked.

"Yeah. Totally. I creamed Asuka."

"I wish I could've seen it. Maybe you'll beat up somebody in the Phantom Pain game, huh?"

"Yeah."

I smiled. How she loved the simple things in life.

* * *

"Cagalli's on the downstairs phone." 

This information was announced to me by the brunette girl on bells, although I had not identified myself or my purpose in coming to their dorm that Monday evening. Obviously the Kusanagi girl who greeted me read the _Red Coat_ and knew who I was. Okay, that had happened many times. And besides, the brunette was Miriallia, Dearka's new casualty. More significant was the fact that Cagalli had been mentioning that she was dating me.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll wait here."

"Too bad about your face. Elsman says four guys jumped you."

"Yeah. And I got the penalty. Five minutes."

"Yeah."

"Cagalli off the phone yet?"

She checked her switchboard, replied, "No."

Who could Cagalli be talking to that was worth appropriating moments set aside for a date with me? Some musical wonk? It was not unknown to me that Seiran, senior and conductor of the Eternal Society orchestra, considered himself to have a franchise on Cagalli's attention. Not body; I don't think the guy could wave more than his baton. Anyway, I would put a stop to this usurpation of _my_ time.

"Where's the booth?"

"Around the corner." She pointed in the precise direction.

I ambled into the lounge area. From afar I could see Cagalli on the phone. She had left the booth door open. I walked slowly, casually, hoping she would catch sight of me, my bruised face, and be moved to slam down the receiver and rush to my arms. As I approached, I could hear fragments of conversation.

"Yeah. Of course! Absolutely. Oh, me too, Kira. I love you too, Kira Yamato."

I stopped ambling. Who was she talking to? It wasn't Seiran – there was no Kira Yamato in any part of his name. I had long ago checked him out in our Class Register: _Yuna Roma Seiran, Onogoro, Orb. School of Music and Art._ His photo suggested sensitivity, intelligence and about 10 lbs more than me. But why was I bothering about Seiran? Clearly, both he and I were being shot down by Cagalli Yula Attha, for someone to whom she was at this moment blowing kisses into the phone!

I had been away only forty-eight hours, and some bastard named Kira Yamato had crawled into bed with Cagalli. It had to be that!

"Yeah, Kira, I love you too. Bye."

As she was hanging up, she saw me, and without so much as blushing, she smiled and waved at me. How could she be so two-faced?

She kissed me lightly on my unhurt cheek. "Hey – you look awful."

"I'm injured, Cagalli."

"Does the Asuka guy look worse?"

"Yeah. Much. I always make the other guy look worse." I said that as ominously as I could, sort of implying that I would punch-out any rivals who would creep into bed with Cagalli while I was out of sight and evidently out of mind. She grabbed my sleeve and we started toward the door.

"Night, Cagalli," Miriallia called.

"Night, Mir," Cagalli called back.

When we were outside, about to step into my Bentley, I oxygenated my lungs with a breath of evening, and put the question as casually as I could. "Say, Cagalli…"

"Yeah?"

"Uh- who's Kira Yamato?"

She answered matter-of-factly as she got into the car: "My twin-brother."

I was silent for a moment. Then it registered. "Why don't you have the same family name?"

"We were adopted by different families."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because you didn't ask."

Back to business as usual. But was I glad to know now that she's only blowing kisses on the phone to Kira Yamato, her twin-brother.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Same disclaimer applies from prologue. Not beta-read.**

I'm so sorry for the late update! I was off for the past months. I'll be rushing this fic so it can end already. I'll skip a lot of parts from the original piece. Sorry. But I really do hope you'll still like it.

* * *

Their Story

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

I would like to say a word about our physical relationship.

For a strangely long while there wasn't any. I mean, there wasn't anything more significant than those kisses already mentioned. This was not standard procedure as far as I was concerned, being rather impulsive, impatient and quick to action. If you were to tell any of a dozen girls at Zaft Academy, Minerva School or PLANTS University, that Atrhun Zala had been dating a young lady daily for the past two months and had not slept with her, they would surely have laughed and severely questioned the femininity of the girl involved. But of course the actual facts were quite different.

_I didn't know what to do._

Don't misunderstand or take that too literally. I knew all the moves. I just couldn't cope with my own feelings about making them. Cagalli was so smart that I was afraid that she might laugh at what I had traditionally considered the suave romantic and unstoppable style of Athrun Zala. I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons. What I am fumbling to say is that I felt different about Cagalli, and didn't know what to say or even who to ask about it. I just knew I had these feelings. For her. For all of her.

"You're gonna flunk out, Athrun."

We were sitting in my room on a Saturday afternoon reading.

"Athrun, you're gonna flunk out if you just sit there watching me study."

"I'm not watching you study. I'm studying."

"Bullshit. You're looking at my legs."

"Only once in a while. Every chapter."

"That book has extremely short chapters."

"Listen, you narcissistic bitch, you're not _that _great-looking!"

"I know. But can I help it if you think so?"

I threw down my book and crossed the room to where she was sitting.

"Cagalli, how can I read George Glenn when every single second I'm dying to make love to you?"

She screwed up her brow and frowned.

"Oh, Athrun, would you please?"

I was crouching by her chair. She looked back into her book.

"Cagalli - "

She closed her book softly, put it down, then placed her hands on the sides of my neck.

"Athrun – would you please."

It all happened at once. Everything. Our first physical encounter was the polar opposite of our first verbal one. It was all unhurried, so soft, so gentle. I had never realized that this was the real Cagalli the soft one, whose touch was so light and so loving. And yet what truly shocked me was my own response._ I_ was gentle. _I_ was tender. Was this the real Athrun Zala?

While in between of our rest from making love, Cagalli opened up a conversation.

"Hey, Athrun, did I tell you that I love you?" she said.

"No, Cagalli."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"I was afraid to, frankly."

"Ask me now."

"Do you love me, Cagalli?"

She looked at me and wasn't being evasive when she answered. "What do you think?"

"Yeah. I guess. Maybe." I kissed her neck.

"Athrun?"

"Yes?"

"I don't love you..."

Oh shit, what was this?!

"I love you very much, Athrun."


End file.
